


Dekumpress

by yeaka



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Link chills for a second.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Dekumpress

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Legend of Zelda or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Night fades to day, and the world’s marginally nicer—the hungry wolfos fade in puffs of purple, whirling out of existence, and the predatory crows still circle the sky but are less sinister, easier to see against the blue than black. One occasionally caws in the distance, and insects hum, butterflies lazily passing through and reasonably-sized dragonflies buzzing overhead. When Link holds the wooden mask up to his face, his body contorts and _screams_ , but then it’s over, and he can hear the whisper of the woods twice as loud. The sound is magnified, but not cloying, not haunting, almost _comforting_ in its steady thrum. The wilderness is full of _life_ and Link’s a part of that.

At first, it was terrifying. Still is, in a way. But it no longer bothers him to feel his flesh harden to bark, and when he tucks himself into a corner, plopping down amidst the grass, he finds it actually fits better. The dirt underneath wedges into his grooves, softening around the texture of his skin, and the grass doesn’t break below him but bend. It’ll straighten out again when he leaves. He’s ridiculously light, enough to catch air under a few measly petals and drift high as an owl. He couldn’t do that before, even when he was fully grown. 

He’s been past dozens, if not hundreds, of trees, even spent hours _inside one._ But this is the first time he can _feel_ the roots gradually writhing all around him. Termina field is a vast, diverse array that’s still growing and thriving, unbothered by the threat of the falling moon. It’s so bizarrely _peaceful_. As a Deku, he can be _one_ with it. 

He shuts his eyes and feels the gentle breeze ruffle what’s left of his hair. When he breathes, he takes in the rich scent of the earth, and it warms him to the core of his tiny figure. He digs his hands into the soil, and even though he doesn’t have fingers to articulate around it, he _feels more_. Maybe he can’t swing his sword or use a proper shield or even just shop like a Hylian could, but there are so many things he can do that he couldn’t in his real body. 

In a strange, twisted way, he’s grateful to the Deku Scrub whose face he wears. He mourns its loss but appreciates all the doors that have opened up for him. He hopes that this is doing it justice—that if the soul sealed in the mask were conscious of him, it would give him its blessing and see how he means his frivolous use of his new form: honouring the dead by loving the living.

A speck of rain hits his snout. It trickles down the side, and the next drop pelts his hat, another his forehead. It opens into a downpour he’s felt so many times before. Usually, he runs. Hylians get cold and sniffly and horribly _damp_ , but a Deku Scrub absorbs the water and grows a little more. 

Link tilts his face up and enjoys the rain, until Tatl comes to nudge his shoulder and urge him on: there’s still a whole universe out there to save.


End file.
